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by nightbloomingcereus



Series: Name That Author prompt fills [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Avocados, Gen, Kindred Spirits, Marijuana, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26182957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbloomingcereus/pseuds/nightbloomingcereus
Summary: "D'ya ever just feel, you know, disposable?" asks Eric suddenly."Like you're just a placeholder until someone better comes along?  All the fucking time.  Story of my life."In which Warlock Dowling finally finds a kindred spirit (or spirits).
Relationships: Warlock Dowling & Disposable Demon (Good Omens)
Series: Name That Author prompt fills [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737703
Comments: 26
Kudos: 71
Collections: GO Events NTA 7 - Rare Pairs





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**Author's Note:**

> Written for NTA 7 - Rare Pairs on the GO Events discord server. Thank you to fenrislorsrai for the title!
> 
> cw for marijuana use.

Warlock glares at the so-called guacamole in the university cafeteria like it's a personal affront, which it kind of is.

"Fucking _green mayonnaise_. Has anyone in this godforsaken country ever even _seen_ an avocado?"

Someone behind him snorts.

"Doubt it. I had to go all the way to Megiddo for a decent one."

"I've been there," he says, surprised enough to drop his sullen scowl. "Didn't know there was anything there besides sand."

"You went all the way to Megiddo and didn't even get to try an avocado? That's a fucking tragedy, man."

"To be fair, I was eleven and more interested in telling the creepy archaeologist that he smelled like poo."

The person, who has the coolest hair Warlock has ever seen, raises one expertly penciled eyebrow skeptically. 

"Well, he _did_."

"You haven't met my former boss. Speaking of smelling like poo."

Warlock laughs and introduces himself, and his fellow avocado-aficionado, Eric, does the same. He's surprised at how natural it feels. (Not at all like meeting his new roommate, Adam, who was perfectly nice but for some reason set Warlock's teeth on edge and made him feel like a bereft child again, shipped off to boarding school in California because nobody seemed to have time for him anymore.)

Before he knows it, they've spent two whole hours over dinner (avocado-adjacent atrocities notwithstanding) and now they're lying on the grass in a quiet courtyard, staring up at the stars and passing a joint back and forth. 

"D'ya ever just feel, you know, disposable?" asks Eric suddenly. 

"Like you're just a placeholder until someone better comes along? All the fucking time. Story of my life."

The weed must be stronger than he'd thought, because he looks over at Eric and suddenly he's seeing double. Or maybe triple. 

Eric (or one of them, anyway) notices him staring and giggles a little self-consciously.   
  
"Sorry," he says, "Must've lost control of my corporation there for a minute." 

The only person he's ever heard use the term "corporation" was Nanny. Maybe Eric's from wherever Nanny was from. Scotland. He doesn't _sound_ Scottish, but one never knows these days. Funny, he could swear that five minutes ago the joint had been more than halfway gone already, but it's nearly fresh now. He's suddenly struck with a sharp memory from his childhood: padding down the hall to peek unnoticed into Nanny's warm, lamplit room, where Nanny and Brother Francis were sharing a bottle of wine that, just like this joint, never seemed to run out. 

It's an oddly comforting thought. 

It must be because he's thinking about Nanny that he finds himself humming an old, familiar melody, a childhood lullaby that nobody else has ever recognized. Shockingly, Eric starts to sing along. He knows every word. 

Eric hands the joint back to him, a low, warm, orange spark between their lazily outstretched hands. He feels quiet and content and for the first time in a very long time, like he might belong somewhere, with someone.


End file.
